


The One You Didn't Expect

by lesbianmermaid



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Multi, Murder, Social Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-22 06:12:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13757973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianmermaid/pseuds/lesbianmermaid
Summary: What if someone else was the murderer?Various situations where other characters were the murderes.





	1. Agatha Christie

“Look, this isn’t personal,It’s just something I do when I have writer's block!” Agatha grunted as she swung the ax.  
Ernest and Edgar ducked and flopped to the floor with a thump.  
“This is insanity! Poe, for God’s sake do something!” Ernest hissed.  
Poe huffed.  
The two crawled underneath Poe's writing desk.  
Really, what was he supposed to do about the axe swinging mad woman in his study?  
“I find it really helpful to act things out before putting it on paper! Really you guys, don’t be such babies!” Agatha insisted.  
She swung at the desk. Poe winced. He liked his desk.  
Ok, fine. If Ernest wasn't going to make moves to resolve the situation, Poe would.  
Poe crawled from underneath the desk and stood.  
“Agatha,” Poe stated in that grave,dry tone he often employs in social circumstances that he doesn’t know how to navigate, “This isn’t the way to deal with writer's block.”  
Ernest’s eyes boggled as he looked on the scene.  
Agatha stopped for a moment and tilted her head.  
Edgar hoped for half a second she would cease.  
“Now don’t be like that Poe! Murder is great writing inspiration!” Agatha insisted as she swung again.  
Poe jumped out of the way just in time.  
His dark oak bookshelf, however, hadn’t been so lucky.  
Poe narrowed his eyes. Ok. Now it really was on.  
He turned to Agatha with a glower.  
“That was a rental.” He seethed.  
She smiled a bit and swung again.  
Edgar dogged and started walking purposefully toward her.  
“You weren't late at all, were you?” He asked.  
Another swing and another surprisingly coordinated dodge from Poe.  
“No. I was just getting ready to practice.” Agatha admitted.  
Swing.  
Dodge.  
“Practice?” Poe ask calmly.  
The axe momentary got stuck in the wall that time after Poe ducked instead of dodged.  
“For my writing.” Agatha chipperly answered.  
Ernest, meanwhile, had had enough of cowering underneath a table.  
While Gloom and Doom where arguing, He snuck out from under the table.  
He crept (more like crawled but he would never admit it) behind Agatha.  
Sweat poured down his face and he shook.  
He lifted his knife and…  
Agatha dropped the axe.  
She stood still for a moment, wide eyed, before falling on her face.  
Ernest’s knife stood out of her back.  
“We’ll have to hide her.” Ernest said nervously.  
Edgar nodded.  
He pondered before saying “Lets bring her to the cellar, where the others are. We’ll figure out what to do with them later.”


	2. The beautiful Annabel Lee

“You could always help me you know. After all, you know this house better than anyone. I might even consider letting you live.” Annabel said in a low sultry purr that was so,so unlike her.

Poe shivered in his hiding spot. The sticky blood made his head wound itch and throb.

“I only imagine the gruesome demises you could come up with. I admit I’m quite a fan of the ones you’ve already penned.” Annabel called.

Edgar could hear her slow steady footsteps as she watched, listened, and waited for him to make a mistake.

She was so cold.

Why was she so cold?

All the warmth he adored had fled her eyes and left chill that near stopped his heart the way her smiles used to.

“What would you write, I wonder, about me?” Annabel mused in a voice devoid of emotion.

Edgar took a steading breath and stood.

His legs were jelly and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest.

Annabel immediately turned to face him.   
Her eyes were so cold.    
Why?

“It was many and many a year ago in a kingdom by the sea that a maiden there lived whom you may know by the name of Annabel Lee.” Edgar started. He took a breath and finished, “And this maiden she lived no other thought then to love and be loved by me.”

Annabel huffed out a laugh. “Cute.” She gestured to him with her gun. “Go on. I know you have more.”

Edgar’s eyes were glued to her quirked lips. 

Why was her smile so dead? So cold? So dreary and devoid of pleasure?

Where was his Annabel?   
Edgar’s stance faltered for a moment and he braced himself against the table he had previously hid under.

“I was a child and she was a child,” Edgar stuttered as his vision blurred, “in this kingdom by the sea. A wind blew out a cloud, chilling my beautiful Annabel Lee, so that her highborn kinsman came and bore her away from me. To shut her up in a sepulchre in this kingdom by the sea”

Edgar met Annabel’s eyes. She was frowning now and her brow was knit together.

“The angels, not half so happy in heaven went envying her and me-Yes!-that was the reason, as all men know in this kingdom by the sea, that the wind came out of the cloud by night. Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.”

Annabel tilted her head and remained silent. The gun remained pointed at him.

Edgar wasn’t sure whether it was sweat or blood trailing down the side of his face.

All he knew was he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want this Annabel to kill him.

He wanted the Annabel that brought him a cupcake for his birthday the Annabel that loved Lenore instead of frightening her to the point she abandoned him.

“But our love it was stronger by far than love of those much older then we, of many far wiser than we, and neither the angels above nor the demons down under the sea can ever dissever my soul from the soul of Annabel Lee.” 

Edgar almost choked on the last part. His eyes pleaded with her.

_ Please  _ they begged.

_ Please. _

“For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee. And so, all the night tide, I lie down by the side of my darling-my darling-my life and my bride in her sepulchre by the sea. In her tomb by the surrounding sea.” Edgar finished.

There was utter silence.

Edgar’s vision blurred again.

“That was quite pretty.” Annabel stated quietly.

Edgar’s heart began to hope. 

She sounded so close to how he remembered.

He wanted to run to her, take her in his arms, but didn’t have the strength.

He opened his mouth to tell her he loved her-

_ BANG _

Edgar blinked.

“Oh.” He muttered quietly as he collapsed on the floor.

Annabel slowly walked over to him.

“Pity,” she mused “ I was just beginning to like you too.”

That did far more damage to Edgar’s heart then the bullet lodged in it could ever hope to do.


	3. Emily Dickenson

 

“Every author wants to be remembered. And that won’t happen if I keep staying in my room at home.” Emily reasoned.

She crept ever so closer with her knife.

Edgar pressed himself further into the corner.

“With you all gone there won’t be any competition. No new works coming in or scandals from any of you. That’s where I come in. I’ll still be writing. I’ll still be here.And with nobody else to cause distractions I can finally get some recognition.I won’t be a nobody anymore. Now, Mr.Poe,I know you’ll like being a ghost no need to be afraid.” Emily said in her sweet soft voice.

“Erma-” Poe tried, glancing around the room, looking for an escape.

“Emily.” The murderess narrowed her eyes.

Poe gulped.

“ _ Emily _ ” Poe corrected “You don’t have to do this. There are other ways to get recognition.”

“Really? Do tell.” Emily chirped, twirling the knife in her hands.

Poe couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or not.

“You could get a publicist-”

“I’m self published”

“My point exactly. You could do what I did and start critiquing-”

“Ah yes.I’ve read your critics column in the paper. They aren’t very kind” Emily admonished.

“Neither is killing people.” Poe said incredulously.

Whatever Emily Dickinson would have said next is lost to us, as Poe’s lady ghost roommate, the rare and radiant maiden Lenore hit her over the head with a bust of Charles Dickens.

Emily silently collapsed to the ground, her chest shallowly moving up and down, and her head oozing blood.

Poe glared down at her.

“Ok first, you’re totally welcome, second I can’t believe we didn’t figure out it was her sooner. Totally creepy pale chick with a hideous dress? Hello!” Lenore huffed, dropping the bust.

“Help me tie her up. We’ll let the constables deal with her.” Poe murmured.

He went off in search of rope, leaving an annoyed Lenore to babysit the deadly poet.

“Worst roommate ever.” Lenore grumbled.


	4. George Elliot and Mary Ann Evans

Elliot sighed.

“None of you could forget. None of you could move on. What you didn’t understand, Poe, is that I can’t be Mary Ann anymore. And no one can know about Mary Ann either.” Elliot explained.

Edgar glowered warily as they circled each other.

“You didn’t need to this.” Edgar quietly stated with a determined look.

There was a disquieting gleam in Mary Ann’s eye.

“Yes I did. Do you know how hard it was for Mary Ann to get published? George Elliot though? No problem. They ate it up. I was a success! All that would go away if the wrong person found out that George Elliot was also Mary Ann Evans. So you see, you have to go Poe.”

Elliot lunged.

Edgar ducked away but still managed to get sliced in the side.

He hissed with pain and grasped at the wound.

“Face it Poe. Over the last few hours I have become an expert of the devious arts. And of acting like a guy. You have no hope so just go quietly.” Mary Ann commanded,her entire mannar cocooned in the false masculinity she’d been exhuming all night.

It really was quite amusing.

Edgar then felt a sting of pain in his side and remembered why he was afraid.

Before she could make her move, the door opened.

“Mary Ann!” Oscar called.

Mary Ann turned to see her once friend and was hit in the head with what appeared to be some sort of wooden block.

Edgar realized after a moment it was part of his staircase.

Why did Oscar have that?

He moved to grab it and then remembered he needed that hand to stop the blood from flowing out of his side.

Edgar decided he really needed to focus on not dying.

Mary Ann stumbled and stared in wide eyed shock.

Her head oozed a bit of blood and it looked like she might fall.

Ernest charged in after Oscar.

“Why isn’t she down?!” Ernest growled.

“I’ve never done this before! Leave me alone!” Oscar wailed anxiously.

Ernest then burst forth to tackle Mary Ann...right as she passed out cold.

The two tumbled to the ground with a loud bang.

“Ow.” Ernest said, his voice muffled.

There was quite for a moment before Edgar stated, “I might be bleeding to death.”

“Oh dear.” Oscar whispered before fainting.


	5. Ernest Hemingway

“I am so. Sick. Of purple fucking prose. I didn’t set out to murder anyone tonight. Well, except Eddie. He wouldn’t take that IOU,ya see. I figured I would pin you for that one, what with your little crush on Annabel. The it hit me. Why stop there? I could go on and on and on and get all you purple prose fuckers outta the way for real writers.” Hemingway exclaimed with a feral grin.

Edgar scowled and picked up the fire poker.

“I should have known when you brought a switch blade as your food item, I mean who does that?” Edgar grumbled.

“Real men!” Ernest roared and come charging at Edgar.

Edgar did his best to duck away and frantically swung the fire poker.

Ernest knife met Edgar’s thigh is a rather shallow cut a split second before Edgar’s fire poker made an equally shallow slice in Ernest’s face.

The two men stared each other down before Edgar scrambled away, Ernest close on his heels.

“What about Annabel?! She wasn’t even an author!” Edgar cried over his shoulder.

Edgar stopped when he was on one side of the table and Ernest was on the other.

“That wasn’t me! If Annabel died, it was her own fault! I would never waste such a women!” Ernest proclaimed.

Edgar felt his blood boil and he made a futile swipe at Ernest.

Ernest, in return, made an equally fruitless attempt to injure Edgar.

The two mirrored each other's movements, with Edgar trying to make a break for it on one side and Ernest blocking him, and Ernest trying to get to Edgar but Edgar moving last minute.

This went on a while before Ernest cried out in frustration and lunged at the table.

Both the table and Edgar fell over.

Ernest grinned widely.

“And now, Poe, you’re reign of terror and abouresque is over.” Ernest proclaimed.

And then an axe burrowed itself in his skull.

Ernest stared comprehensively for a moment before crumbling to the ground.

“Oh god, I’m going to get blood on my shoes!” Charlotte proclaimed, letting go of the axe’s handle.

It was too much for the poet.

Edgar fainted cold.


	6. Oscar Wilde

“The only question I have is why?” Elliot asked.

Oscar scoffed in that dramatic I’m-better-than-you way that only he could manage.

Ok,Charlotte might be able to as well, but that wasn't the issue right now.

The issue was, in fact, much more grave considering Mary Ann's friend was trying to murder her.

“Look Mary Ann, this isn’t a personal thing, M’Kay?” Oscar lunged with his knife, but Elliot scrambled away.

How could this not be personal? Mary Ann thought.

Murder is the most personal thing you could share with a person!

“I thought we were friends!” Elliot shouted as she flung a book at Oscar.

Oscar batted it away, clumsily making noises of distress.

Elliot gave him a disbelieving and critical look.

“How did you get away with so many murders?!” Mary Ann asked in high pitched cry.

“I don’t know!” Oscar shrilled.

He attempted to stab Mary Ann again,only for her to trip him.

Really, how he managed to take down a big guy like Dostoyevsky, Mary Ann would never guess.

“I really need the money! I had to sell my house, and my things, even the rights to my works!And if all of you were dead, you wouldn’t need things like rights to your works, or money, or valuables…” Oscar listed as he dodged a hit from Mary Ann.

“This is a money issue!?” Mary Ann shrieked.

Unbelieveible.

Not only was he a murderer, but a sell out too!

“Why did you think I slept with Eddie?! It sure as hell wasn’t for his personality!” Oscar shot back.

Mary Ann almost started to agree, but then Oscar started to move, and she remembered she was locked in a battle to the death.

He hopped over a footrest, dropped his knife, and grabbed the fire poker.

“I refuse to let them make Dorian Gray straight!” was Oscar’s battle cry.

Fair enough.

But if Mary Ann was going to go, it wasn't going to be quietly.

Mary Ann snatched the knife and prepared for her salvation...or her doom.


	7. The rare and beautiful maiden whom the angels named Lenore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: TW for a implied suicide but its up to interpretation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incase you didn't see before read summery

Edgar sobbed.

“Why?” He croaked.

Lenore took a drink of her wine

She set the glass down.

“I guess I wasn’t one for party guest.” Lenore answered.

Edgar trembled.

“And Annabel?” He asked, his voice breaking at her name.

Lenore shrugged and looked off somewhere, maybe out the window.

Edgar squeezed his eyes shut.

“Didn’t I tell you to quit crying? I thought this would be totally up your alley Mr. Graphic-and-grotesque.” Lenore sneered.

She picked up her glass and took another long drink.   
Edgar opened his eyes and gave a shuttering laugh.

“Why would you think I would want this? Dead bodies, of people I knew and actually liked, rotting away, never to be found,helpless-” Edgar paused his speech as the nausus hopelessness curling around in his gut came tumbling up his throat.

He vomited.

“Uhg, you’re pathetic Edgar. You know you never even liked any of those people! Hemingway? Louisa? Hell, you even started planning Eddie’s murder! I just helped you, you ungrateful dog! I did everything you were afraid to ask for and whats my payment? A pile of puke! Ew!” Lenore ranted.

She thoughtlessly stepped over Edgar and his mess to pour herself more wine.

She gulped her glass down and poured herself another.

Lenore looked at Edgar and scoffed.

“It’s as much of your fault as mine, Grim Creeper. Things will go back to normal soon enough. Besides, it’ll be good material for a short story, don’t ya think?” Lenore asked.

She turned to leave the room.

She paused just before she exited.

“You’re just as dark as I am Edgar. I know you better than anyone, dead or alive. You would have been much more cruel in the end.” Lenore emphasized and left.

Edgar stared at the floor.

Lenore had spilt some wine.

It was red.

It was going to stain.

Wasn’t there enough red staining his floors?

Edgar had to leave.

Lenore’s thoughts echoed in his head and weighed him down.

They were his anchor, drowning him in his madness, keeping him from the salvation of the numbness.

Edgar had to get out of there.

Edgar realized he had long been insane, with long horrible intervals of sanity, and all Lenore did was throw away his mask.

And what was left when she did?

A hollow, shell of a man who had loved one to many times only for his love to be consumed by death itself.

He was only mortal, anything else he’d gladly overcome in the name of love, but death?

It had already claimed his mother, his wife, and now Annabel.

Wasn’t it satisfied?

No, Edgar realized, and it never would be.

Not until Death held his very soul in her cold hands.

Edgar caught notice of the knife used to kill Charlotte, still stained with red.

Edgar had to escape.

  


Later, Lenore returned for the wine.

Again, she thoughtlessly stepped over Edgar and his mess.

And drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> summery is important actually


End file.
